


Stages of Grief

by valtyr



Category: Marvel Ultimates
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-23
Updated: 2011-04-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 13:49:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/189531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valtyr/pseuds/valtyr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Avengers Kink, prompt: "Steve and Tony have sex at Bucky's funeral." Warning for minor character death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stages of Grief

It was Bucky's heart, surprisingly, for all their worries about cancer. Tony wasn't about to trot out any trite nonsense about broken hearts, but he wasn't surprised that Bucky had followed Gail so soon.

Steve, however, had been stunned by the double whammy; he'd been walking around like a man with a terminal diagnosis. Well, not really, as the only man Tony currently knew with a terminal diagnosis was himself, and Steve neither drank nor slutted it up or taunted Fury. He just looked... blank.

He'd done a reading at the service, and been one of the pall bearers, and Tony had concluded he was just fine and Tony could have stayed in the bar instead of turning out to a grotty little churchyard on a sharp, gloomy day. It wasn't until they were lowering the coffin into the ground that Steve made a sharp, raw sound and covered his mouth and Tony grabbed his arm just above the elbow and yanked.

Steve staggered obediently along with him, eyes squeezed tight shut though tears were already seeping through. There was a little cloakroom just inside the door of the funeral parlour, and Tony shoved him inside. After a moment's indecision, he followed and shut the door, because Steve was much less likely to put his fist through something with another person there.

He was making horrible noises, as if every sob was clawing its way out, and Tony reached out to lay two fingers on his wrist, very gently. Steve turned on him like a bull, and Tony had a second to think what a very stupid idea it had been before his back collided with the door and Steve made a noise into his collar that could best be transcribed as _hork_.

"Okay," Tony put one hand between Steve's shoulderblades and one in his hair. "Okay, Steve, just... cry, or do your thing, let's get it out."

"They're all dead," Steve growled into his throat, sounding rather like he was going to rip out Tony's jugular, and Tony patted him again. "And I'm not."

"Oh, survivor's guilt," Tony smiled brightly, though Steve couldn't see it; he'd hear it in his voice. "You're so predictable."

"But," and Steve was just going to start rabbiting on about how he didn't deserve to be alive when better men were dead, so Tony slapped him quite firmly across the back of the head.

"Stop being such a crybaby," and Steve made an indignant gurgling noise. "Emo kid."

Steve actually snorted with laughter at that, leaving a damp patch on Tony's neck, and then there was more laughter, and then, oh damn, Tony had misjudged that because Steve started weeping in earnest, shuddering and snivelling and trying to push closer despite the fact he was already almost squashing Tony.

"There, there," Tony said unconvincingly, and stroked Steve's neck with rather more assurance, because petting an attractive blonde was something he'd had practice with. He generally avoided making them cry. "Come on, Steve, I... stiff upper lip? You'll feel better after a good cry? Oh, God, I'm running out of platitudes, come on darling," and at that, Steve lifted his head and snuffled against his cheek as indignantly as a man could manage to.

It was probably a mistake to kiss him, but at least the crying stopped, the wet slick sounds of their mouths a vast improvement over the wretched sobbing. Steve scrunched his eyes closed and plastered his whole body up against Tony, who hadn't managed a full breath in about five minutes now, and was feeling distinctly light-headed. Theoretically, Steve sliding down to his knees should have helped with that, but somehow the air was as hard to gain as ever when Steve unzipped him and dragged out his cock, which was showing interest in Steve's somewhat rough handling.

Probably, it was taking horrible advantage of Steve in a time of distress, but if they didn't do this he'd almost certainly go back to crying, and really the only thing worse than a grief-sodden regrettable sexual encounter was trying for one and being rebuffed, so Tony slumped back against the door and remarked "God, yes, please," as Steve's mouth closed around his dick.

It was far from the best blowjob Tony had ever had; Steve was sloppy and tried to take it all too fast and choked and he was still crying a bit, which really wasn't at all what Tony looked for in a partner. But Tony rarely got blowjobs from people he was genuinely fond of, so there was novelty value there, and Steve didn't seem to mind when Tony grabbed his hair and rocked in and out of his slick hot mouth. He swallowed without batting an eyelid or making a face, which lead Tony to suspect that for all his amateur performance, it wasn't the first time he'd tried it.

Glazed eyes and red shiny mouth was a pretty fantastic look on him, and Tony slid down mostly into his lap and kissed him again - to prevent any further crying, he told himself - and Steve took his hand and pressed it against the front of his pants.

"All right, yes, never let it be said I'm not a gentleman," Tony told him, which was met with a sniffle instead of a cutting remark, so he concentrated on getting his hand round Steve's dick (large, uncut, more or less as he'd expected) and jerking him off with some efficiency.

Efficiency wasn't quite how it ended up, because Steve squirmed and made good noises when Tony did something interesting, and after all it was unlikely Tony would get another go at this so he might as well enjoy it a bit. But it was definitely under seven minutes before Steve sighed soft and dry and then came in Tony's hand. Then he put his head down on Tony's shoulder and seemed to abandon all interest in the whole situation.

Tony wiped his hand off thoroughly, and zipped Steve up, and zipped himself up. Then he got his phone out and told Happy to bring the car around in five minutes.

"Which gives you time to go wash your face," he told Steve, who made an uninterested noise. "No, get up."

Steve snuggled closer. Tony sighed.

"It's going to be awkward for their kids if they find you like this," he said, and Steve stiffened. "And there are a couple of reporters lurking around, we don't want your blotchy face all over the front page. Come on. Wash your face, and we can go out of the back door into the car, all right?"

"I should - "

"I'll call the funeral director and tell him we've left. It'll be fine."

"Okay," Steve uncoiled with enviable grace, leaving Tony sprawled messily on the floor. Steve didn't look at him, just went to the sink to splash his face.

Tony fiddled idly with his phone. Then he flipped it open and sent Pepper a text. The Mansion had the Ultimates hanging about; much better they went to a hotel, where Steve could get some peace.

Well, not exactly peace, because Tony was definitely hoping for more grief-sodden fumbling, but at least they might have the chance to _get_ some grief-sodden fumbling.

"Time yet?" Steve said in a subdued voice, and Tony flashed a smile at him and held out a hand. When he was upright, Steve ducked his head into Tony's neck for a second. "Thank you."

"Oh, it was no trouble," Tony patted him on the shoulder. "Come on, let's get you out of here." He ran his hand down the curve of Steve's spine, and Steve's eyelids drooped just a fraction.

There was _definitely_ more comforting on the cards, Tony decided, and turned them both towards the door.


End file.
